"So that is your highest ambition, is it?" asked the stranger.
"I don't think I've got any ambition," said Ben. "As long as I make a livin', I don't mind."
"When you see well-dressed gentlemen walking down Broadway, or riding in their carriages, don't you sometimes think it would be agreeable if you could be in their place?"
"I should like to have a lot of money," said Ben. "I wouldn't mind bein' the president of a bank, or a railway-director, or somethin' of that kind."
"I am afraid you have never thought seriously upon the subject of your future," said Ben's companion, "or you wouldn't be satisfied with your present business."
"What else can I do? I'd rather smash baggage than sell papers or black boots."
"I would not advise either. I'll tell you what you ought to do, my young friend. You should leave the city, and come out West. I'll give you something to do on one of my farms, and promote you as you are fit for it."
"You're very kind," said Ben, more seriously; "but I shouldn't like it."
"Why not?"
"I don't want to leave the city. Here there's somethin' goin' on. I'd miss the streets and the crowds. I'd get awful lonesome in the country."